Harry Potter in 46 Fics
by Mycroft-mione
Summary: A drabble collection of plot AUs, shorts, and character studies spanning all seven years of Hogwarts. Each chapter title comes from the song "Harry Potter in 99 Seconds," but none is as it seems... [All entries unrelated, rating may vary.]
1. There once was a boy named Harry

_**A/N: If you are unfamiliar with the song "Harry Potter in 99 Seconds" by youtuber Jon Cozart (Paint), I suggest you watch it. This collection will make a lot more sense. [pause] Okay, each chapter is named for a lyric from the song, which tells the entire HP saga in 99 seconds. The lyrics are in order and I'm using every one. Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **THERE ONCE WAS A BOY NAMED HARRY**

 _Harry. Harry Potter._

It came in whispers from the streets, from the mouths of strangely clad folks celebrating in pubs.

 _Harry. Harry._

It was shouted from a neighbor's window, before someone hurriedly pulled the curtains shut.

 _Harry Potter. Harry Potter._

The name - for it had to be the given name of a boy, or man - was everywhere that day. It followed him wherever he went: in the shops, in the park, on street corners. Teary-eyed old ladies said the name reverently, like a statement of fact, then finished their shopping. Kids his age talked in hushed whispers about the 'Potter boy' where anyone could listen. The city itself spoke the name, and it was a shared heartbeat for days.

But he didn't know what it meant.

His name was Harry, but it wasn't _Harry Potter_.

He was just a boy, not the fantastic being whose name was practically written in the stars, not anyone who would be noticed.

Only a few towns away, in a perfectly ordinary house in Little Whinging, Surrey, there lived the baby Harry Potter whose name and very existence were revered, who was growing up to save the world.

But this little Harry wasn't that boy.


	2. Destined to be a star

**DESTINED TO BE A STAR**

* * *

The door was knocked twice, one rap after the other.

Draco shoved his new wand under the covers and did his best to appear innocent. He didn't know any real spells anyway - the dratted house-elf taught him one in the kitchens in secret, but Draco was sure it was a fake - but it was best to stay out of trouble. Then, he was instantly relieved to hear his mother's voice in the hall.

"Draco, love, are you in there?"

"Yes, mother," he said quickly, wincing at the use of the pet name. He was eleven-and-a-half; it wasn't proper.

His door slowly opened and she glided in with silvery robes and her blonde hair undone, standing at the foot of his bed, her hands folded.

"I thought I would wish you a good night. After all, it is the last evening I'll lay eyes on my little boy for months."

"Yes, mother."

"Come kiss me goodnight." Draco obliged, slipping out of the silk bedding to place a quick kiss on her cheek. Her face was cool to his touch.

When Draco finally closed his eyes, his mother sat in an ornate rocking chair across the room, watching him carefully. She waited until his breaths had begun to slow, then walked silently to his bedside.

"Draco," she whispered. She brought her lips closer to his ear without fear of waking the boy.

"Draco, you have a great destiny. I don't know what you will do, or how your father will behave, or how your school will change you, but you have some destiny, someday. All Malfoys do."

She looked at him, looked at his cropped blond hair and his sleeping, softened smirk, and she saw herself in him. She saw his Lucius-like side too, and it troubled her.

"Make me proud, son."


	3. His parents were killed by Voldemort

**HIS PARENTS WERE KILLED BY VOLDEMORT**

* * *

When Neville really thought about it, he knew it wasn't exactly true.

His parents _were_ still very alive, although they couldn't remember his name.

Whether that state of hovering on the beyond was worse than death, he didn't know. All he could see was a mask over their faces that hid everything bright and true, turning them into shells. Shells with his parents' faces sewed on.

And it _had_ been Bellatrix Lestrange who tortured them into insanity, not Voldemort. Technically. If he took away the big picture, he was left with the cruel blinding hatred that built up like a storm within him every once in awhile, until he was able to calm himself down. Neville could blame Bella because she was the one who cast the curse; it was her hand.

Oh, but he knew it was on Voldemort's orders, if indirectly. That evil man knew where to stab, and twist the blade, so he stabbed out hearts in giving Frank and Alice the Cruciatus. Maybe the pain had faded for others, but it was fresh as ever for Neville.

Oh, but his parents were close enough to be counted as dead - lost - faded. He couldn't look at other children without seeing the inequality: one boy _with_ and one _without_. It was hard to let go of that feeling, so hard.

But when Neville's friends were in danger, he accepted all the pain he could and used it, fueling himself with hate and anger and frustration until there was nothing good inside him but a spark of hope. He lit the spark.

Voldemort killed his parents. Now Voldemort had to die.


	4. Who gave him a lightning scar

**WHO GAVE HIM A LIGHTNING SCAR**

* * *

If Lily and James had lived, they would have stood and dusted off the signs of a fight from their clothes. James would have tried to help Lily up - she would have refused - and after they shared a hug and kiss of relief, they would have rushed into Harry's room.

The mobile over his cradle would still be twinkling in the moonlight. Books and toys would be laid out on the floor, where a shag carpet made the wooden floor soft and comforting. There would be dishevelled cushions everywhere, and a window might be left ajar, but all they would see would be their little boy's hands clutching at air.

Lily would let out a cry, running to her son just to feel his heartbeat - his life, spared. James would follow, stopping short behind her to lay a hand on her shoulder.

They would look down, together, at the marvelous green eyes (Lily's eyes) and the sparse beginning of raven hair (like James). Their baby would look up at them, not afraid, but gazing at his parents in confusion.

And Lily would gasp, and point at his forehead, where a fresh cut showed. James would make a sound of fury - _his child_ \- and lean further into the cradle to study the wound. It was a lightning bolt, three jagged strokes that a child could draw with crayons.

But Harry's scarring cut would be nothing, as long as the boy wearing it was alive and well. Lily would scoop up Harry, and the family would embrace. They would shake, the tears just beginning to fall.

Residual magic would hover in the room, and the curtains would be blown back where the shock wave of spells had hit.

It would be quiet on the streets.

The Potters would laugh, and cry.


	5. Yo Harry, you're a wizard!

**YO HARRY, YOU'RE A WIZARD**

* * *

Harry stared at cobwebs, each cluster of silk stuck precariously to the stairs above his head. They refused to budge no matter how hard he scrubbed - although, to be honest, Harry didn't try that very often. For some reason, cobwebs grossed him out more than anything, and that was saying a lot when one lived with the Dursleys.

He blinked, his eyes still cloudy from sleep. The draft from the vent beside him reminded Harry that it was morning, which then prompted his brain: _it's Dudley's birthday_.

Dragging the blanket off himself, Harry sat up. He had to crouch a bit to avoid hitting his head, but this was second nature to him, so all remained intact.

He sighed. "Here we go again."

After Harry had unlatched the door to his cupboard, padded into the kitchen on bare feet, cooked eggs and bacon in a skillet, and begun to lift stacks of plates and silverware into the dining room, there was a booming sound in the hall.

"Get the door, boy!" shouted Vernon. His voice was muffled by a pillow, something Harry appreciated. His uncle was particularly unpleasant first thing in the morning. He grudgingly opened the door, but when a huge man appeared outside, Harry nearly slammed it in his face.

The man took Harry's shock as an opportunity to invite himself in, his elbows knocking down a few picture frames on his way.

"The name's Hagrid, an' yer Harry, o' course," he boomed. Somehow, his words were friendly and familiar, yet Harry was transfixed by the giant mass of a man.

"Got me instructions a bit mixed up," Hagrid said. "Don' know if I was mean' to show up today or nex' Tuesday. Reckon now's as good as any."

He straightened, his head bumping against Aunt Petunia's crystal chandelier. Harry heard voices from upstairs, and instinctively ducked into the sitting room. The last thing he saw was his aunt and uncle's faces staring at him in fury.

Hagrid grabbed Harry's shoulders and looked at him eagerly.

"Harry, yer a wizard."


	6. Harry goes to Hogwarts

**HARRY GOES TO HOGWARTS**

 _In which knowledgeable!Harry doesn't accept everything Hagrid tells him._

* * *

"Um... 'Hogwarts'? It's called ' _Hogwarts'_?"

Hagrid stared at Harry quizzically.

"What's wrong wi' that? Yeh take a hog an' warts an' yeh put 'em together, I s'pose. Nobody ever stops teh think 'bout the name anyhow."

"But why _hog_ and _warts_? A school named after a barnyard animal and a skin disease thing? Surely the founders could do better than that."

"An' _they_ were called Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw an' Hufflepuff." He ignored Harry's indignant expression. "Nah, Harry, yer best forgettin' about it all. The name's been the same for a thousan' years an' I wouldn' want it any different."

Content, Hagrid sat down on the Dursleys' sofa, squashing most of it and looking like a giant in a dollhouse. Harry wondered at this, surprised that a man so enormous could fly under the radar in London. But he was still bothered by the unsatisfactory answer. He folds his arms and tried to look imposing.

"What other schools are there, then? Pig acne? Cow HPV?"

"I though' yeh were eleven! How d'you know what HPV is?"

"I watch a lot of Fox News," Harry muttered. "There's not a lot to do in between birthdays and dinner parties around here."

"Fox news? Yeh like animals, do ya?"

"Forget it."


	7. He meets Ron and Hermione

**HE MEETS RON AND HERMIONE**

* * *

Harry shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of how to approach the many passersby for help. He knew it had to be soon, for the sake of his aching legs and vaguely irritated owl. But there was no way of knowing the status of his train. With his luck, it was already bound for the school of magic without him, just because Harry couldn't find the platform.

Two bulky men had already elbowed him in the side when a girl about Harry's age approached him. The first thing he noticed was her sheet of wavy brown hair and the way her eyes stared into his, undeterred.

"Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. And you?"

Harry stood, thinking words in his head but coming up with nothing. Hermione tilted her head as if contemplating his face for signs of stupidity.

"Well, anyhow," she continued matter-of-factly, "I see by your trunk and owl and things that you're headed where I am." She bit her lip, examining his belongings more closely. "Unless you're an owl connosieur. But normal children don't have owls as pets. Usually, it's cats and dogs. So you must be like me."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it.

"I haven't got a pet," Hermione blurted. "I'm allergic."

It was at that point in their conversation, when Harry could think of nothing at all to say, that another stranger showed up. This time, though, it was a pack of red-haired boys, followed by two adults that appeared to be their parents.

"I'm Ron," said one of the boys, nodding at Harry. He ignored Hermione, although Harry thought that he saw Ron give her a cautious exploratory glance when no one else was watching.

Before Harry could blink, the parents had concluded a brief but tearful goodbye, dragging a short pigtailed girl with daggers in her eyes behind them. Ron took Harry's hand and pulled him through a nearby wall.

Harry nearly protested, but when he let his clenched face relax, he opened his eyes to a new scene. A massive train stood in front of him, and the platform was crowded with children, all waiting. When the tide began to head towards the train, Harry looked to his companions with unease.

"Um, Ron? Hermione? Is this..." Harry checked the ticket he'd stashed in his pocket. "Is this platform 9 3/4?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, pointing to the sign above their heads that said as much.

Ron loozed impatient. "Come on!"

The three of them clambered aboard the train, struggling with their bulky trunks. After settling into a compartment, Harry noticed Ron studying his face.

"What is it?" he asked, imagining that there was dirt on his nose. He'd heard something like that before Ron's family left.

Ron gaped at him. Hermione spoke instead, hiding a knowing smile.

"I think he's surprised because he's just noticed - you're Harry Potter."


End file.
